A Shadow Falling
by Bluecrow213
Summary: The mission with NCIS has an unexpected consequence that strains Clint and Natasha's new relationship. But when tragedy strikes, Clint has to face his most difficult challenge yet. Warning: Major character death. Rated M for dark themes. Sequel to 'Some Assembly Required' and 'More Than Just Friends'.
1. Eli

_"Loss and possession, death and life are one._  
_There falls no shadow where there shines no sun."_  
~ Hilaire Belloc

* * *

Natasha let herself into the apartment, and instantly went on the alert. The place was silent, and that was wrong. Normally, if Clint was home, he had music playing in the background, frequently Dire Straits or something like that. She'd spoken to him about two hours ago, and he'd said he'd be home all day. So where was he?

She shook her head slightly, and reminded herself that this wasn't a mission, it was a date. There was no reason to assume that Clint had gone any further than the local convenience store to pick up some forgotten ingredient for the meal he was supposed to be preparing. One of the more surprising discoveries that she'd made about him, since they started dating properly about six months ago, was that he could cook pretty well, though he didn't do it often. Today he was supposed to be making Indian food, and Natasha could smell appetizingly spicy aromas lingering in the air.

She walked through to the kitchen, and frowned. Though there were signs of activity - pans piled in the sink, a wooden chopping board with a knife lodged across it, a couple of stray onions on the counter – it didn't look as if anything was actually being cooked right now. Curiously, she opened the fridge, and found several containers of half-prepared food. If he'd only gone out to the corner store, why had he packed everything away?

A thought struck her, and Natasha went into the bedroom, looking for the backpack that she knew Clint kept ready at all times, containing a change of clothes and other items that he'd need if he was called away at short notice. It was gone. Glancing around, she noted signs that he'd changed in a rush – jeans and a t-shirt in crumpled heap, a dresser drawer open with the contents stirred up. So he'd obviously gone somewhere in a hurry, which wasn't exactly unusual in their line of work, but when it had happened before, he'd called her.

Natasha's phone chirped, and despite her concern, she smiled. Clint still didn't know that she'd programmed his ring tone with a bird call. She pulled the phone out of her pocket.

"Clint?"

"Yeah, Tasha, I'm sorry..."

"Where are you?"

"La Guardia. Something came up suddenly, I'll be in D.C. overnight."

"Mission?" she asked.

"No, uh... it's a personal thing..." he sounded wary, and very distracted. "Listen, Tasha, if you need to get a hold of me in an emergency, call the N.C.I.S. office. They'll pass on a message."

"N.C.I.S? I thought you said it wasn't a mission."

"Yeah, it's... sorry, they're calling my flight, I gotta go. I'll see you tomorrow night."

He hung up, and Natasha frowned at the phone in her hand. What personal business could he have with N.C.I.S., other than Ziva David? Clint had told her that his involvement with Ziva, during the mission earlier in the year had been a casual, one-time thing. He'd insisted that there had been no strings attached, but from the sound of it, he'd dropped everything and run for the airport the moment he heard from her.

After a moment, Natasha pocketed her phone, and headed for the door. She decided to visit the gym before she went home; she had a feeling that she'd sleep better tonight if she'd spent a couple of hours hitting something.

* * *

Her phone chirped again around 11.30 the following evening. She thought about letting it go to voice mail, but it seemed kind of pointless as a gesture, so she answered it.

"Yeah?"

"Tasha? Sorry it's late, I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No," she said.

"Uh – can I come over? There's something I have to tell you."

That sounded kind of ominous. "You can't tell me on the phone?"

"It – it'll be better in person."

Natasha was silent for a moment. Then she said, "Okay."

"I'll see you in half an hour."

As she put her phone down, Natasha had a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach, and she had a feeling that she knew what was coming. Clint had gone off to visit Ziva, and now he was coming back to break up with her. Why else would he insist on speaking face to face? She supposed she should at least be grateful he was doing her that courtesy, instead of ending things over the phone. She got up and paced the living room restlessly. She should have known it was too good to last, and she hated how helpless it made her feel. When it came to her work, she was the best, well-trained, efficient, and ruthless. But when it came to a personal life, she sometimes felt like she didn't have a clue – especially when it involved Clint.

Maybe it would have been better if they'd never gotten romantically involved. It had been bad enough before, feeling the way she did about him. But having finally had a taste of being with him, it would be much worse to lose it.

Her expression hardened. Well, she wasn't going to pull the clinging vine act with him. Impulsively, she walked around her apartment, gathering up the belongings that Clint had left here – a change of clothes, his spare shaving kit, a couple of books – and dumped them in a box, that she put by the door. It was going to be painful enough, she didn't want this scene to last any longer than it had to. She stared at the box, then picked up her key fob, and took one of the keys off. The key to Clint's apartment. She threw it into the box, then went to sit on the sofa, staring blankly at her hands while she waited.

Finally, she heard him unlocking the door – she'd have to remember to get that key back from him – and stood up, ready to take the bad news.

Clint closed the door behind him, and paused in the act of putting his backpack down, as he saw the box. His belongings, with the key on top of them. He dropped the backpack, and looked up at Natasha, confused.

"I figured I'd save you the trouble," Natasha said, trying to sound unconcerned.

Clint just looked at her, then shook his head slightly. "I don't understand."

"It seems pretty straightforward to me. You went to see Ziva, didn't you?"

Clint's expression cleared slightly, as if he thought he understood what was going on now. He nodded. "Yes, but..."

"So you've come here to end things with me – I've saved you the trouble of finding your stuff."

Clint seemed to relax, and let out a breath. "No." He walked over to Natasha and pulled her into his arms. "Tasha, I'm sorry, I didn't mean this to upset you. I should have explained before I went, but it was such a shock..." He bent his head to kiss her, and it reassured her. There was no hesitancy, it was the way he always kissed her – as if for that moment, nothing else in the world existed for him. Drawing his head back a little, he looked at her, his eyes slightly narrowed. "You know, for a cold-blooded assassin, you're actually kinda vulnerable." There was affection, and a slight touch of surprise in his voice.

Natasha let out a slightly shaky breath. "Only where you're concerned," she admitted.

He kissed her again, and just held her for a moment. Finally, she asked, "So – if it's not that – what is it you need to tell me face to face?"

Clint closed his eyes for a moment, running his hand over his hair, though he still kept one arm around Natasha. "Yeah... well, it's going to complicate things a bit," he said. "Come on, let's sit down." He drew her over to the sofa, and as they sat, he reached into his jacket and pulled out his phone. Natasha watched, frowning slight, as Clint searched quickly through some photos, then he handed the phone to her.

The photo was of a newborn, red-faced and still wrinkled, with a shock of dark hair. Natasha looked up at Clint, her expression wary.

"That's Eli," he told her. "He's my son."


	2. The Red Room's Legacy

Natasha was silent, and when Clint looked up at her, he saw she'd gone deathly pale.

"Tasha?" It was a huge shock, yes, but she looked almost as if she'd been punched in the gut. She didn't answer, and he wasn't sure what to say. Finally, for lack of anything else to do, Clint flipped through the photographs on his phone; a couple more of the baby, one of himself holding his son – he thought that he looked a bit like a deer in the headlights in that one, though it was a good picture of the baby – and finally one of him and Ziva with the baby. He heard Natasha's sudden intake of breath, and he hastily went back to the previous photo. "The nurse insisted on taking that one," he said uncomfortably.

The silence stretched, and Clint was about to speak again when Natasha looked up at him. "You didn't bother with protection?" There was an edge to her voice, accusation and scorn.

"Yes, we did," Clint said quietly. "But they're not one hundred percent effective, accidents happen..." He sighed. "Tasha – this isn't something I wanted. I always figured that in this line of work, it was better not to have kids. I mean – anything could happen to me. It didn't seem fair to have a family in those circumstances. There's enough orphans in the world. But Eli is here now, and I have a responsibility to him. I know it's going to make things complicated for you and me..." Natasha snorted derisively, but Clint went on, "...but he's got a right to know his father. And I want to be part of his life."

Natasha suddenly got up and went to stand at the window, with her back to Clint. "I think you should leave now," she said. There was an odd quality to her voice, an uncharacteristic harshness. After a minute, Clint got up and went to the door. He had a feeling that he shouldn't push her too hard right now. Let her get over the shock, he told himself. God knows he was still getting used to the idea. He collected his backpack, and looked again at the box with his possessions.

"Do you – do you want me to take these?" he asked.

"Up to you." Now her voice was taut, strained, as if she were holding her emotions under tight control. Clint looked at her for a moment, wishing she'd meet his gaze. "Give me a call," he said quietly, before letting himself out of the apartment.

When she heard the door close, Natasha looked around. Clint's stuff was still there, the key was where she'd dropped it. He hadn't touched the box.

Natasha walked into her bedroom and sat down on the side of the bed. Something landed on her hand, and she looked down to see the tear that had fallen. Impatiently, she brushed the moisture away, then used the palm of her hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks. But she couldn't stop them flowing.

Ziva had given Clint the one thing that Natasha never could.

Of all the psychological and physical abuse inflicted during her time in the Red Room Academy, the practice of surgically sterilizing the girls was perhaps the most cruel. Those running the establishment had not wanted the intensive training and indoctrination interrupted by unplanned pregnancies, so it had been deemed necessary to permanently prevent that possibility. Until now, Natasha hadn't given it a lot of thought; she'd had no particular desire to have children, knowing how drastically it would affect her work. As Clint had said, it had seemed foolish for someone with such a dangerous job to have a family.

But now he had one; and despite his claim that his time with Ziva had been nothing more than a casual encounter, there was no getting away from the fact that having a child together would create a bond between them. Even if it was only a mutual interest in their son's well-being, it was a connection that Natasha could never share with him.

With an effort, she managed to control the tears. She wasn't going to change anything by crying, it just made things worse - she hated how helpless it made her feel. Clint had commented on her vulnerability earlier, but she was certain that he had no idea just how unsure of herself she really was where he was concerned. That was the real reason she'd told him to leave. She didn't want him to see her weakness.

Natasha got up and began to prepare for bed, moving by habit alone. Finally she got into bed, and turned out the light. But as she lay staring into the darkness, she knew that she wasn't going to sleep that night.

* * *

It was very quiet, some time after midnight, but Ziva was wide awake. She was sitting up in the hospital bed, her knees slightly raised, and her newborn son cradled in her lap. She was still a little in awe of him – of the fact that she'd actually produced this perfect little person. She gently traced a finger over his cheek – the neonatal wrinkles were starting to smooth out, and the redness of his skin was fading. She could tell that he was going to have her own olive complexion, and the luxuriant dark brown hair was definitely hers.

Eli stirred, and opened his eyes. Looking at his unfocused gaze, Ziva smiled. Babies had blue eyes at birth; but Eli's were so pale that she had a feeling that they might stay blue. She knew that blue eyes occasionally occurred on her mother's side of the family – she'd been told that her great-grandfather was blue-eyed - so she could certainly have the gene to make that possible. Ziva gently stroked the baby's hair, smoothing it back from his forehead, and marveling at its soft silkiness. She placed a finger in his palm, and got the expected grasp reflex; did babies normally have such long, slender fingers? He was starting to squirm, and began to cry.

"What is it? Are you hungry?" She gathered Eli into her arms, and in a few minutes had him settled comfortably. As she watched him nurse, she murmured, "Welcome to the world, little one."


	3. Not Going To Change

A week later, Clint returned from DC, determined to talk to Tasha. During that week, he'd called her several times, and she'd either let the call go to voice mail, or kept the call as short as possible, making an excuse for not seeing him. But during the flight as he returned from his son's Bris, he made up his mind that he was going to see her in person. If she was determined to end things with him, because he now had a child with someone else, then he wanted her to tell him in person.

He decided to go straight to her apartment, rather than stopping at home first. He'd spent so much time going over in his head how the conversation might go, that now he just wanted to have it over and done with. But frustrating as Natasha's elusiveness had been, the nights spent without her, not knowing if he'd ever have her in his arms again, had made him realize just how much he needed her. Somehow he had to convince her that having a son didn't change how he felt about her.

Part of him was confused by how Natasha had reacted. He'd expected her to be shocked, had understood that she needed some space to get used to the idea. He hadn't anticipated that she would want to shut him out of her life. And yet there had been something in her eyes, in her voice, that made him think there was more going on. She hadn't just been angry that he had a child – she'd reacted as if she'd received a mortal blow. And he wanted to know why.

Arriving at the door of her apartment, he knocked and waited for her to answer it. After a couple of minutes he tried again, and still got no response. He took out his key and hesitated; letting himself in could be risky, especially if he startled Natasha, but he had confidence in his abilities. Even back when he'd been possessed by Loki, and they'd fought on the helicarrier, when he'd been strung out and exhausted from the ceaseless work he'd been forced to perform, she'd only barely defeated him. He turned the key in the lock and opened the door.

"Nat?" Looking around he saw that the place was uncharacteristically untidy. He dropped his backpack by the door, noting that the box containing his possessions was still there, waiting to be removed. He didn't think it was a good sign. He walked further into the apartment, thinking that if she hadn't responded by now she must be out. Then he saw her.

His surprise at catching her asleep on the sofa when normally the slightest change in her environment would wake her, was swallowed by the emotion that gripped him as he looked at her sleeping face. He crouched down beside her, knowing that the first time he said this, she should be awake. But maybe it even meant more that he'd say it with no expectation of hearing her say it back. He was saying it just because it was a fact, and it needed to be said.

Running a finger gently down her cheek, he said softy, "Love you, Tasha."

It was the caress on her cheek that woke her, and for a moment she thought she'd dreamed both the touch and the words that accompanied it. But opening her eyes, she found herself looking straight into the blue eyes that had long had the power of riveting her soul. She sat up so fast that it startled Clint, and he stumbled slightly as he stood up and took a step back. He raised his hands, clearly showing that he held no weapons, and Natasha couldn't help the ghost of a grin. He knew better than anyone just how deadly she could be if she was surprised.

The moment of caution passed, and Natasha saw Clint give her a faintly quizzical look. "I heard what you said," she confirmed. " But you thought I was asleep, so..."

Clint smiled. "It just needed to be said. I couldn't keep it in." He stepped towards her and reached to draw her into his arms. Feeling the faint resistance, he dropped his hands and just looked at her. "I love you Tasha. And I need you."

This time when he reached out for her, she stepped into his embrace. It felt so good to be back there, this was where she had wanted to be every moment for the past week.

"Tasha, tell me what's wrong," he said softly. "You've shut me out for a week. Just tell me why. It's more than just the fact that I have a kid now, isn't it?" He felt her tense in his arms, but he went on, "We've been friends for years. And now we're much more than friends. You can't trust me to accept whatever it is you need to tell me?" He felt her tension ebb slightly, and looked down at her. "Just tell me."

Keeping one arm around her waist, Clint moved them both over to the sofa and sat down. Leaning back, he drew her with him, so that they were half-reclining, with Tasha's head against his shoulder. He waited, and finally she said, "The Red Room..."

Clint clenched his jaw briefly. Natasha's time in that place had done so much damage to her. He'd heard some of what had gone on there, and some days he was amazed that she was still capable of loving. The fact that he was the one she had chosen to give that love to made him feel suddenly humble. He stroked Natasha's hair, feeling her stillness, the tautness of her body. "What did they do to you?" he asked gently.

For a while she didn't speak, then she said, "The last thing they needed was one of their trainees getting pregnant. So it was routine, as soon as we reached eleven, they... they sterilized us, surgically. And not just a simple tube-tying. It was a complete hysterectomy. So I can never..."

Clint sighed, tightening his arms around Tasha. "You can never have my child," he finished for her. "And Ziva did." He felt Natasha's head move against his neck, a quick nod. For a moment he said nothing more. Then he looked down at her. "But why should that make me love you any less? Tasha, I know I should have said this long ago. I love you. I love everything about you. Everything. Good and bad. And this is something you have no control over. I'd be a total bastard if I held this against you." He could feel the tension starting to ebb from her body, and he leaned down and kissed her.

For a long time they just lay there. At length, Clint said, "Eli is going to be part of my life, but not a big part. I'm going to pay my share to support him, but Ziva will have custody. I'll visit him, and when he's older he'll come and stay with me from time to time. But it's not going to change how things are between you and me. Ziva has her own life, she doesn't want to intrude on mine beyond what's required to raise our son. Even if she did, she'd be out of luck, because it's you that I love. That's not going to change."

Clint shifted so that he was lying full length on the sofa, with Natasha beside him, her head still resting against his shoulder. He could feel that she was relaxed now, and he wondered if she was falling asleep again, but she suddenly raised her head and looked at him, meeting his gaze with an intense expression. "What?" he said.

After a moment, she smiled, and he felt as if he were basking in a patch of sunlight. "I love you, Clint," she said. There was a conviction, a confidence in her voice that made him smile.

"Think I don't know that?" he said, running his hand over her hair. "But I'll never be tired of hearing you say it.


	4. Dead At The Scene

**A/N: WARNING - Major character death in this chapter.**

Sorry it's taken me so long to update - life has repeatedly Gibbs-slapped me over the past few weeks!

* * *

What struck DiNozzo most was how natural Ziva looked with a baby on her hip. She was standing in the lab, talking to Abby, with Eli cradled in her left arm, her other hand gently supporting the back of his head as he slept peacefully against her shoulder. She laughed at something Abby was saying, then glanced over, noticing DiNozzo for the first time. "Tony! It is good to see you – I was just about to come up to the floor, but I thought I would visit with Abby first." She turned back to Abby. "Lunch in an hour, yes?"

Abby nodded. "Sorry I can't go right now, but I really gotta get those last tests finished..." She sounded apologetic, but Ziva shrugged.

"It will give me a chance to see everyone else," she assured her.

As Ziva started towards the door, DiNozzo handed a file to Abby. "No rush – just a follow up on the ballistics test from last week," he said.

He followed Ziva to the elevator, and as the doors closed, he said, "Second time this week you've been here – not finding motherhood a little dull, are you?"

Ziva chuckled. "Surprisingly, I find it very fulfilling. I came today to drop off some paperwork and have lunch with Abby. I..." She broke off when Eli stirred in her arms, and smiled down at him. "That was a short nap," she remarked, and DiNozzo couldn't help smiling at the way she spoke to her son, not in baby talk, but almost the way she would have addressed an adult. The boy responded with a gummy smile, and DiNozzo reflected, not for the first time, how odd it seemed to see those blue eyes in a face that was otherwise completely Ziva's.

"So when are you coming back to work?" DiNozzo had tried not to ask – on her last visit, McGee had pointed out that Tony asked Ziva that every time he saw her – but he had given up trying to hide that he missed her. Somehow, the agent who was filling in for Ziva while she was on maternity leave, just never gave him the feeling that she completely had his back.

"Another month," Ziva told him. "My agreement with Gibbs was four months; and Eli is three months old today." She gave DiNozzo a speculative look. "Are you not happy with my replacement?"

DiNozzo shrugged. "Agent Stuart is good, but she's too 'by the book'," was all he said. "Come on, Ziva, surely changing diapers and mopping up puke isn't _that_ fulfilling? Don't you miss the job?"

Ziva considered for a while, finally saying thoughtfully, "I admit that I miss the intellectual challenge of the work. I have been thinking that I might come in perhaps one day a week, unofficially, to catch up on the cases I have missed. My neighbor is going to look after Eli when I come back to work, and I do not think she will mind an extra few days..."

DiNozzo grinned. "Tell you what, come in on Friday, and I'll make sure Stuart moves to that little cubicle in the back corner."

They stepped out of the elevator, and he called out, "Hey, McGee, Ziva's gonna be back one day a week for the next month!"

"Tony, I have not said yet that I will..." Ziva sounded slightly exasperated, but she was smiling, and DiNozzo had a feeling that it wouldn't take much to talk her into it.

* * *

Friday morning saw Ziva at her desk before the rest of the team arrived. She'd had a feeling that her first day back would be difficult, and had wanted a little extra time to compose herself. As it turned out, she wasn't feeling overly-emotional about leaving Eli with the babysitter, though she'd be glad to get home to him that evening. She had anticipated that she'd spend the day reading case files, but by mid-morning, it was obvious that Agent Stuart had somehow contracted food poisoning. By lunch time she'd gone home, so when DiNozzo got the call to pick up a potential witness to the stabbing of a young Marine recruit, he looked over at Ziva and raised an eyebrow.

"Field trip?" he suggested. "It's just a pickup."

Ziva glanced in Gibbs's direction. The senior agent shrugged. "Up to you," he said. "You're not officially back at work yet."

After a moment, Ziva nodded and stood up, reaching for her jacket.

From the moment they arrived at the witness's duplex, both Ziva and DiNozzo knew that this was not going to be as straightforward as they'd imagined. The door had clearly been kicked in. Before they could investigate further, they heard a gunshot in the apartment above.

"I'll cover the back," Ziva said, and headed around the side of the building, along a narrow passage into the laneway behind the building. As she looked up, she saw a man emerge from the second level and start down the fire escape, a gun in his hand. "NCIS, drop your weapon!" Ziva yelled. The man raised his gun and fired.

The first bullet took her in the shoulder, and the impact made her stagger, but she still managed to get off a shot at her assailant. Then the second bullet struck her belly, low down near the hip, and the sudden torrent of bright red blood told her that it had hit an artery. Ziva fell hard on her left side, her arm doubled up under her. She managed to look down at herself, and saw the blood gushing in rhythmic spurts. Tony was around on the other side of the building, there was no way he'd reach her in time. If the gunman didn't come over to finish her, she would bleed out before help could arrive.

Strangely, the knowledge of impending death didn't make her afraid; just very sad that she wouldn't get to see Eli grow up. Her boy would be raised without his mother. But his father would make sure he knew about her. She was so glad, now, that she'd involved Clint in their son's life. There was already a bond between them. Her thoughts were becoming more hazy. A tiny rattle at her throat caught her attention – the necklace she never took off slipping sideways. Her hand was tucked near her shoulder, and it took little effort to curl her fingers around the Star of David pendant. It felt warm to the touch – and she was very cold now.

She drew a shuddering breath, but there was no pain, just a vague feeling of falling, a sense of increasing distance from everything. Her eyes began to drift closed, and as her fingers relaxed slightly on the pendant, her last conscious thought was of Eli.

DiNozzo heard the exchange of gunfire around the back of the building, and he took off at a run. When he reached the laneway, the sight of Ziva huddled on the ground was like a kick in the stomach. There was no sign of the gunman as he ran to her, and dropped to his knees beside her. God, there was so much blood, it was spreading out around her, the hot metallic smell of it rising to clog his nostrils.

"Ziva!" His voice cracked; even as he turned her towards him and reached to feel for a pulse at her throat, he knew he wasn't going to find one. So much blood, and she was so still, there wasn't the faintest indication that she was breathing. Tony felt for the bottom of her sternum and began to push rhythmically, but he knew it was futile. There wasn't enough blood left in her to circulate. Her left hand was still curled by her throat, and Tony saw that Ziva's fingers were tangled in the fine gold chain. Somehow it was that, more than anything else, that finally convinced him that she was gone. In her final moments, he knew, she'd reached for the one thing that was most precious to her apart from her son.

Eli.

It felt so incredibly cruel, that after all the danger she'd survived in her life, Ziva should die so soon after becoming a mother. And he was the one who'd persuaded her to come off maternity leave early. When the cops and paramedics arrived, Tony sat back on his heels, staring numbly at her. He stayed there, unable to move as the EMTs confirmed what he already knew, reported in that their patient was dead at the scene. He was still there as they moved her to an ambulance, and the cops began to examine the area. They tried to get him up, to get him to leave, or at least move to one of their squad cars, but he barely heard them, couldn't bring himself to leave.

In the end, it was Gibbs who finally persuaded him to get up and walk away from the spot where Ziva died.

* * *

Strolling along a New York street, with his arm around Tasha's waist, Clint sighed when his phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and checked it. "Ziva," he said, seeing the NCIS number. "I should take this."

Natasha turned away while he talked, trying to control the little stab of jealousy. She knew she should be glad that Clint had stepped up to his responsibility, that he wanted to be an active part of his son's upbringing – she _was_ glad. But there was no getting round the fact that she resented the amount of contact he still had with Ziva. She knew it was inevitable, but it didn't mean she had to like it.

She turned back to him, just as he was saying, "Thanks – I'll be there tonight..."

He ended the call and stood motionless, staring blankly ahead. Natasha could see that his face was rigid, and drained of color. "Clint? What is it? What did she do now?" She knew she should have left that last sentence unsaid, but it had slipped out.

Clint turned to look at her, moving as if he were in a daze. Quietly, he said, "She died."


	5. He Has Your Eyes

Clint stood silently in the elevator with the young agent tasked with escorting him to the floor where he'd be picking up his son. When he arrived in D.C., he'd phoned Ziva's neighbour, to let her know he was on his way, only to be told that an NCIS agent had picked Eli up several hours ago. It had struck him as a little strange, but Ziva had mentioned that the team was very close. Her death had been a shock to him, but it must be far worse for the colleagues who had known her for years. Clint had, if he was honest, barely known her. There'd been that brief time on the helicarrier, during the mission last year, when Eli was conceived. And then his occasional visits after the baby's birth. But compared with the team she'd worked with, he was pretty much a stranger, and now he was coming to take her son. He wondered if they might resent his presence.

The elevator stopped, and Clint stepped out. He had a moment or two to get his bearings before someone dressed in black enveloped him in a hug.

Abby had been prepared to treat Clint coldly. They'd lost Ziva, and now a man who had met her only a couple of times was going to take little Eli away, and they'd probably never see the boy again. But when Clint stepped off the elevator, something about the look on his face had touched Abby. He seemed almost as shocked as the NCIS team, and there was an uncertainty about him that seemed very far from the confident man she remembered from the mission with SHIELD. There was also something about him that made her think that the child, caught in the middle of this tragedy, was going to be cared for just as well as he had been by his mother. So she acted on the impulse to hug him, and was rewarded with a smile, albeit a confused one.

"I'm so glad Eli has you," Abby told him. "He needs family." She seemed to scrutinize Clint for a moment, then said, "Okay, I can see it now – Eli's got your eyes."

Clint nodded as Abby spoke. "Where is he?"

Abby looked over to where DiNozzo sat behind his desk, with Ziva's son in his arms. She was worried about Tony – he'd been silent when Gibbs brought him back to the NCIS building, had sat staring into the distance, his face a rigid mask. Only after Gibbs fetched Eli from the babysitter, and handed him to Tony, had he spoken – and then only to the child. He was in shock, Abby knew – they all were, but Tony seemed to have shut down almost completely. Gibbs had murmured to Abby that Tony was blaming himself, because he'd talked Ziva into returning early. Abby knew that was ridiculous; if Ziva hadn't wanted to come back, then no-one could have talked her into it, not even Tony at his most loquacious. It was heartbreaking to see him, as he cradled the sleeping baby.

She walked over to his desk. "Tony? He's here – Eli's dad."

After a moment, Tony looked up, staring at Clint distractedly. He sighed. "I guess you'll be taking him then. This'll be the last time we see him – just like we'll never see Ziva again." His voice had a distant quality, that in some ways was harder to take than any emotional outburst.

Clint walked over to him, and reached out to stroke Eli's soft dark curls. "I hope you'll all see him again," he said. He looked around at the others gathered there. "I'd like it if you stay in touch. I'm the first to admit, I hardly knew Ziva, even though we had a child together. You all knew her, and Eli's gonna to need you, if he's gonna get to know his mother." He glanced over at the windows, not really seeing the view, the pinpoints of light in the darkness, then he turned back to face Ziva's colleagues. "I grew up without my parents. I know what it's like to wonder what they were like, which one I took after. Not to know who they really were as people. I want Eli to know who his mother was, and you're gonna have to help me." He picked up a pen from DiNozzo's desk, and scribbled a phone number on a scrap of paper, then handed it to Gibbs. "That's my private number. You guys can call me to find out how Eli's doing. When he's old enough to understand, maybe you can spend some time with him. Talk to him about Ziva."

He glanced around at the agents – he'd met most of them on the mission a year ago. They all looked tired and shattered – DiNozzo most of all, but Gibbs seemed older than he recalled, and Abby had clearly been crying. One he hadn't met during the mission, McGee, who'd been at Stark Tower, and had managed to prevent the release of the deadly virus, stood in the background, his face drawn. By the looks of his eyes, he'd shed more than a few tears too. Beside him was a shorter man in medical scrubs, much older than the others. Clint didn't know him, but could see from the man's face that he was as stunned and saddened as the others. Ziva had been part of a family here, Clint realized. It was good to know there were people who would tell Eli stories about his mother, who would remember her fondly, and pass that on to her son.

Gibbs took the paper and nodded. "We'll do that," he said.

"Funeral?" Clint asked quietly.

Gibbs shook his head. "Not as such," he said. "I'm leaving tomorrow – I'll accompany Ziva's body to Israel and her people there will arrange things. But there's going to be a memorial service here in a few weeks. I'll let you know the details."

Clint looked over at Eli, who still slept soundly in DiNozzo's arms. "We'll be there," he said quietly. No matter what else happened, he was going to bring Eli to his mother's memorial. He was about to go over and pick up his son, but Gibbs stopped him. "Need to give you something," the older man told him. He felt in his pocket and took out something small, and handed it to Clint. "Ziva always wore it – never took it off. Wouldn't have touched it, except I think she'd want to Eli to have it when he's older."

Clint looked at the Star of David pendant, on its gold chain, and nodded. "I'll keep it safe for him. And... I'll try to make sure he knows what it means. How much it meant to Ziva."

Gibbs nodded, satisfied by the promise, and walked over to DiNozzo. "Tony?" He wasn't sure how DiNozzo was going to react, now the moment had come. The younger agent had obviously taken comfort from caring for the baby for a few hours, but now he had to hand him over to his father.

For a moment, Tony didn't react. Then he sighed, and stood up, cradling Eli carefully, as he walked over to Clint. "He ate about half an hour ago," he said, and his colleagues were surprised by how normal his voice sounded. "There's a bottle of water, and formula powder in the diaper bag. Should be enough diapers too, to get him to New York, and a couple of sleepers. I put in a memory stick, it's got some music on it – a European band that Ziva liked, she said it seemed to soothe Eli when he was fussy." He carefully put Eli into Clint's arms and stepped back. For a brief time, he just looked at the little boy, then he nodded slightly. "I wrote down my number for you, it's in the bag. Call me if you have any questions about Eli. Ziva used to email me a lot, she talked about Eli most of the time..."

His face tightened for a moment, a momentary flash of grief touching his features, but he seemed to master it. "You're lucky," he told Clint. "Eli's a great little guy. He'll be feisty, too, if he takes after his mother."

"I hope he does," Clint responded. "Thank you for taking care of him today."

He was about to reach for the diaper bag standing on DiNozzo's desk, but the agent who had brought him up to the floor moved quickly to pick it up for him, as well as the portable car seat standing beside the desk. Clint followed her to the elevator, and before he stepped in he looked back. Ziva's team were standing together, sharing their grief, but taking comfort from each other.

In some ways it felt cruel to take Eli away. But he was Clint's responsibility now.

* * *

It was the first time Clint had traveled with a baby, but it hadn't gone too badly. On the plane, a grandmotherly type in the next seat had taken pity on him, helping him to mix the bottle of formula when Eli seemed hungry, and advising him to give the child his pacifier to suck on during the descent into New York, to help soothe his cries of pain as the pressure in his ears increased.

The cab driver who'd picked him up at the airport had been a new father himself, and had helped him secure Eli's car seat in the back of the taxi.

Now, as he opened the door of his apartment, shortly after midnight, a waft of savory smells reminded him that he hadn't eaten since lunchtime. He walked in and closed the door, and saw Natasha standing by the kitchen door.

"Figured you'd need something to eat when you got back," she said. She was wearing her unreadable 'mission face' and Clint wondered how she was feeling about all this. They were still feeling their way around their relationship, and as much as Eli's birth had changed things, it would be nothing to how things would change now that Clint was going to be a full-time father.

He put down the diaper bag, and set Eli's car seat down on the floor. As he crouched down and unfastened the buckle of the restraints, he said, "Think you could hold him for a minute while I hit the bathroom?" He looked up and caught the nervous look that Natasha gave him, and couldn't help smiling. "He doesn't bite," he assured her. He lifted the boy, and put him carefully into Natasha's arms. As he walked towards the bathroom, he said over his shoulder, "Even if he does – he doesn't have teeth yet!"

When he came out again, Natasha was sitting on the sofa, looking uncomfortable as she held the baby. "He looks like Ziva," she commented, her tone carefully neutral. Before Clint could reply, Eli began to stir, making sleepy baby noises. A faint flash of alarm appeared on Natasha's face, and she made as if she was going to get up and hand him back to Clint, but then Eli opened his eyes and stared up at her. After a moment he smiled, and if Natasha didn't quite melt, she at least seemed to relax a little. Hesitantly, she smiled back, then looked up at Clint. "But he has your eyes."

In her voice was a quality that made Clint think that maybe, this was going to work after all.


End file.
